Corona by Greg Bear Read Free Book Online Page B

look like worms. We crawl into their sight, and crawl out again, and the only reason they don't step on us is they aren't at all like us. Humans aren't the center of anything."
    "I'm sorry," Mason said. "I don't have anything against other species, but I do believe humans are important."
    "Important, yes. More important, no. Now let me get down off my soapbox and fix us some dinner. What would you like?"
    They ate quietly, a little wary of each other. When the sleep period was over, Uhura rose and sprayed on her uniform in the cabin sonic shower. She stood by the door as Mason dressed. "I have the bridge watch until 1800 hours. Come by just before then and I'll show you what I do. Then we can catch dinner in the mess and watch some entertainments in the wardroom."
    "Uhura," Mason said as the lieutenant was about to leave.
    "Yes?"
    "Do you have trouble sleeping during warp?"
    "Heavens, no. Why?"
    "Just wondering." Perhaps it was being away from Yalbo, away from the smells and company of the compounds. She felt so alone, so very much among strangers. If she let it, her isolation could easily depress her and begin to affect her work, and she would never stand for that.
    And she was angry. Uhura was human; whatever her experiences, surely she felt more allegiance for humans than for other species! How would any species survive if it didn't feel more allegiance for its own kind? Did everyone on the Enterprise think Humanists were backwater reactionaries?
    She checked over her equipment. Perhaps it wasn't a bad idea to do some research in the ship's open log. She had fifteen more days before the Enterprise reached the Black Box, time in which to steep herself in the lore of Starfleet, in the history of the Enterprise —time in which to find a chink in all that self-righteous military armor.

 
Chapter Eight

WARNING! YOU ARE ENCROACHING UPON SECURITY SECTOR! UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY MAY RESULT IN PROSECUTION—
    Spock sat before the monitors console in the computer control center and regarded the message on the screen with mild distaste. As far as he and Veblen had been able to tell, there was nothing against Starfleet regulations—or even against the monitors' codes—in what he was about to do. Still, the human designers had studded every aspect of the monitors' programming with warnings and ambiguous threats. He knew a way around the warning—a path was charted in the system instructions themselves—so he erased the screen and proceeded into the heart of the system, the memory banks which contained the experience memories of six Starfleet commanders.
    Of the six, four were now dead and two had retired from active duty. One of the dead was a Vulcan, the only Vulcan to ever reach command rank in Starfleet, Admiral Harauk. Spock was very interested in Harauk's thoughts on certain matters, and from what he could tell, the monitors were perfectly capable of replicating Harauk to a certain degree. So long as Spock did not attempt to change the memory or tamper with the system in any way which would affect its function, the worst he was doing was affronting the monitors' sense of dignity—which was how he characterized the intent behind the messages. (Machines as complex as the monitors were often best dealt with in terms of quirks and personalities, especially when they had been designed by human beings.)
WARNING! MONITORS NOT DESIGNED TO OPERATE WITH INPUT OF ONE EXPERIENCE-MEMORY ALONE. MAY RESULT IN—
    Spock cleared the screen again and placed the direct com earphones over his head. He heard a distant hissing noise—not interference but the carrier signal for the memory frequencies of Admiral Harauk. At this point, there was no need for a machine language interface. Spock pressed a button actuating voice communication and said, "Live long and prosper, Admiral Harauk. I am Spock, son of Sarek of Vulcan and Amanda Grayson of Earth. I am science and first officer aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. "
    "Live long and prosper, Spock," came